


Cigarette

by Gallahad



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: FOXHOUND era, M/M, Smoking, can be read as dave having a puppy crush on kaz as well as purely platonic, that's up to you, the only archive warning that applies is how much of a softie kaz is under his hell master image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallahad/pseuds/Gallahad
Summary: Foxhound 199x.Snake's first failed mission.It's also his first cigarette, and there's old-fashioned country playing from the inside of master Miller's cabin.





	Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://benevolentvulture.tumblr.com/post/175488324316/jolene-by-dolly-parton-except-its-playing) is the song that inspired me to write this.
> 
> Also a massive thank to Kochei who drew some [wonderful art](https://kochei0.tumblr.com/post/184923926543/he-believes-it-so-he-nods-again-from-gallahads) of this fic, this is beautiful and I love it.

Solid Snake had failed.

It had been one of his very first missions since he got that nickname.

The objective was simple, the mission not that important, the error that compromised everything was stupid, and he was still a rookie after all.

But they are Foxhound, and Foxhound doesn’t fail. Foxhound has a reputation to keep. They are elite.

This night is the worst since he was recruited by them. Worst than the days his body would painfully burn because of Big Boss’ CQC training. Worst than staying three days in the mud without rations for a mock mission.

The higher-up spent hours reprimanding him.

Master Miller was there for it too. Big Boss was not but he was on the phone at some point, and from Miller's look, Dave knows Big Boss was disappointed in him.

Since then, Dave feels awful. Because disappointing Big Boss, _the_ Big Boss, is the worst.

When he's allowed to go back to his quarters, master Miller follows, stern and contemplative. Dave should be relieved that he is not saying anything, instead of scolding him too. But Dave hates the silence and the way he can't see if master Miller is disappointed too, because of those fucking aviators glasses that never leave him.

It’s weird, too, because everybody knows master Miller has a knack for shouting on recruits and voicing his displeasure. And right now, he seems really damn displeased. The stiffness of his footsteps is a dead giveaway.

When Dave casts a glance at the survival instructor, it may be a misplaced hope, but he feels like, perhaps, the annoyance isn’t directed toward him.

Maybe. He doesn’t know. Whatever. He just wants his cot, and to stop existing for a while.

But master Miller, instead of letting him go back to his dorm, gestures to follow him. So Dave does, because he's a Snake, and Snakes are good soldiers, even when they're feeling down and awful.

He's slightly surprised that Miller is leading him to his own cabin. It's apart from the others, because the infamous Hell Master is well known for liking his peace. But it’s only a fleeting thought and Dave doesn't really care in the end, simply follows. It's raining hard and it's dark and despite the rain, the air is hot and disgusting, and his clothes are sticking to his skin. He hates it.

When they’re here, Master Miller still says nothing, and still only gestures at him. This time, it's to order him to just sit here, under the porch of the cabin, and wait. So, Dave sits down on one of the old plastic chairs, and waits.

He has no idea how much time he's spending there, alone on the porch while master Miller does god-knows-what inside the cabin. Dave is too busy ruminating the stupid mistakes he did during the mission, and the shame he should probably feel when he'll be forced to face the others soldiers the day after.

After a while, he realizes that there is soft light and music coming from the cabin. It's Dolly Parton. He never especially liked her songs, but he's not surprised master Miller does. Mellow and bittersweet country. That's the kind of songs he would enjoy, of course. The tune is faint and blends itself with the rain’s splatters on the roof.

When Miller reappears, he has traded his camo jacket for a dry shirt and two bottles of beer. He sits down beside Dave and gives him one without looking. Dave isn't supposed to drink, not on the base’s grounds. But if it’s from master Miller, it’s probably alright. So he takes it.

He sips on it one time, then a second, and it’s bitter and cheap as hell, but it helps with the stone he feels in his stomach.

Dave doesn’t know what Miller is thinking, but at least for now, it’s just them. No other recruits. No higher-ups. No Campbell. No Big Boss. He hides a sigh and slumps a little forward, his elbows on his knees.

From his peripheral vision, he sees the ever silent Miller fishing a worn pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his cargo pants. He takes one, briefly puts it between his lips to light it, and offers it to Dave, impassible.

“You need it.” says Miller after seeing the perplexed hesitation painted on Dave’s face.

Dave never smoked before. Barely twenty, been through training hell more than once, and fought in Iraq under the Green Berets, and as he slowly takes the cigarette and lifts it to his mouth, it’s his first time smoking ever.

The smoke burns his throat. He coughs once, twice, and take another sip of the lukewarm beer to soothe him. He expects master Miller to laugh at this blatant display of childishness and already feels his cheeks reddening. But master Miller doesn’t. He just lights another cigarette for himself and exhales deeply.

Dave notices the way the foot of his good leg seems to lightly tap in rhythm with the song.

“We all fail, sooner or later. For soldiers like us, sooner is better. When the risks aren’t that high.” Miller’s voice is soothing in a way it shouldn’t be, Dave thinks placidly. He knows he should be focusing on the words instead, but the deep tone lulls him in the first semblance of inner peace since he’s back on base.

“Now that you’ve done it once, you just have to make sure it was the last time,” and it sounds like an implacable truth rather than a cautious advice from a mentor a little too kind-hearted.

He nods just once and takes another tentative drag of the cigarette. Better than the first. This time he manages to inhale more or less properly. It still burns, and the taste in his mouth is terrible. He can see himself getting used to it.

The rain is too loud, the song isn’t enough, but the smoke dissipating in the night is hypnotizing, and the warmth emanating from Miller is more comfortable than the hot air.

The hand that comes to gently ruffle his hair is, too.

“You’re going to be fine, kiddo.”

He believes it, so he nods again.

 

 


End file.
